Casualties of War
by Camilla.33
Summary: In 1936, when tensions begin to rise in Europe, Helena Koller and her family flee Austria in the middle of the night hoping to avoid catastrophe. That same year, Claire Girard finds a woman passed out on the side of the road and takes her in. Neither is aware of the war brewing, or the part they will play in each other's lives and in the war.
1. Warpath

A/N: For the sake of clarity, characters speaking in their native language (French, German, etc.), when that language is not English, will have their dialogue italicized. If the dialogue isn't italicized they are either speaking English or I have used phrases from their native language. Hopefully this doesn't end up being more confusing than helpful...

Also I realize that I haven't been posting or updating at all for a long time, so thanks to everyone who has been following my stories for your patience!

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PROLOGUE - WARPATH

 **Vienna, Austria  
January, 1936**

Helena woke to the slam of her bedroom door flying open. Her mother stood in the threshold, a candle flickering in one hand. She was fully dressed despite the late hour, though her hair was sleep mussed and still folded into the plaited style she wore to bed.

" _Mama?_ "

Without pausing to address her daughter she crossed the room in a few strides, dropping the candle on the nightstand before moving to the ancient wardrobe. She started gathering bundles of clothes into her arms and throwing them into the travel bag Helena kept on the antique chair in the corner of the room. Helena pushed herself onto her elbows, watching her mother pack with the kind of urgency that sent a cold sweat down her back.

" _Mama, what's happening?_ "

" _There's no time, darling. Get dressed quickly and come down."_

She threw a bundle of clothes at her daughter and yanked the travel bag shut with a jerky, nervous motion. She practically ran from the room, racing down the hallway in the dark and down the stairs without a hitch. Shaken, Helena sat up and pulled her clothes on in a rush. She swiped the abandoned candle from the night stand and followed her mother down to the ground floor.

The grandfather clock in the entrance hall read fifteen minutes past midnight. Beside the front door three travel bags were stacked beside their shoes. Elsewhere in the house, Helena could hear her parents hurrying around; one in the kitchen, the other in the study. Moments later they returned to the entrance hall and a bundle of food and her father's worn leather suitcase were added to the pile by the door. Her father barely paused long enough to pull his coat on before retrieving the suitcase and rushing out toward the garage. Her mother threw her a coat before bundling into her own and picking up two of the travel bags.

" _Take these two for me darling."_

" _But Mama what-"_

Her mother shoved the cases into her arms and pushed her out the door. Helena stumbled out into the frigid winter air, felt it nip at her as a breeze blew up her open coat. Behind her the few lights in the house went out and the courtyard was plunged into darkness. She fumbled around, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the remaining light as she heard the front door shut with a click behind her. Her mother found her arm in the dark and dragged her forward to the garage and they piled the remaining cases into the truck of the car. The engine roared to life before she had even fully shut her door.

. . . . . . .

They drove through the night, avoiding major routes and stopping periodically for gas. Her parents said nothing, and Helena could only guess from the street signs that they were heading in a general South-Western direction away from Vienna. Helena sat restless in the back seat, peering out into the darkness imagining some terrible monster chasing them through the night. By the time the sun began to rise behind them they had reached a small border town. The sign just outside the city limits proclaimed it proudly as Goriach.

Her father bought a room at a small in, two beds and modest, before venturing out into the village with her mother and leaving strict orders to stay put. Helena agreed without a fight, the sleepless night finally taking its toll on her now she was free from the tension that had filled the car. She sank into one of the beds, falling into sleep almost immediately. She slept only a few hours before she was woken by her mother's return. Helena sat up as she closed the door. Her mother's skin was paler than usual, the blonde hair she normally kept tightly bound spilling around her face in wild, wind ruffled tangles.

 _"_ _Get up darling, we need to go."_

" _Where is Papa?"_

 _"_ _There's no time darling, we must go."_

She lurched out of bed, vision blurring with tears she had not realized were forming. Vaguely, some part of her mind registered the dust and scrapes littering her mother's form and came to its own conclusion. She reached for their bags, but her mother stopped her.

" _Bring the case. We will make do with what we have."_

They left the inn without a word and took the car out past the village toward the border. Her mother drove them up the mountain, following the road that wound back forth through the trees until it ended abruptly near the peak of the rise. They abandoned the car, bringing only the case and small bundle of food as they set off on foot to brave the descent into Italy.

. . .

 **Evians-les-Bains, France  
December, 1936**

Claire shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her frame with one arm, the other reaching up to hold her hat down securely over the wild mess of her dark hair. Sitting in the wagon beside her father, she almost wished she could be walking, if only for the warmth the exertion would generate. The trip from their small farm into the main town took only a quarter of an hour on foot, almost shorter than it had taken with the wagon as the state of the road made progress slow. But the weather was quickly growing worse, and Claire found herself thankful her father had taken the precaution of the cart, even if their old Clyde had started to struggle somewhat on their journey back.

Another frigid wind whirled through the wagon, creeping cold fingers slipping up her dress and she shivered again. The wagon rumbled over a dip in the road, jostling abruptly, and her father steadied her absentmindedly with one hand. His face was tight with worry and, matched with the greying of his dark hair made him look worn and gaunt. The storm was bad enough that they normally would not have braved the trip, but her mother was ill, and their medicine supply empty. Claire fingered the package in her lap. Just enough medicine to last a few days, if that, but it was all they could afford.

Ahead of them, the road fell into the cover of the trees and the storm eased. Their old draft horse lifted his head, ears pricking forward as he noticed something on the road ahead. His pace faltered, nervous but still willing. He was a wizened old man of a horse, not yet a true senior but old enough to know the ways of the world and understand that the motionless lump on the ground ahead of them was unlikely to cause him any trouble. Still her father drew him to a halt with a concerned glance, passing the reins over to Claire before jumping down and investigating the strange scene.

Claire shifted to watch him around edge of the wagon. He walked carefully, edging closer slowly in case it was some wild animal but switched quickly to alarm when he stood close enough to make out what it was. He rushed forward with a startled shout, struggling to lift whatever it was, and Claire suddenly realized it was a person. A woman, sprawled on her stomach as though she had tripped and fallen and simply stayed put, barely dressed for the weather and obviously half frozen. Her father finally managed to lift her, her limp body hanging in his arms as he rushed back to the wagon and deposited her into one of the piles of hay, fluffing it up around her as though it might keep her warm. Crouching beside her, he beckoned for Claire to get the wagon moving.

"Allez, ma belle, vite."

Claire nodded solemnly, balancing the package in her lap precariously as she took a rein in each hand and urged the horse forward. It took less than a handful of minutes for them to arrive back at the farm. Her brothers, Antione and Pierre, flew out the front door to meet them, their already anxious energy increasing tenfold when they saw what was in the back of the wagon. Her father was quick to rein them in.

" _Antoine, take the medicine to your mother and stay with her."_

The younger boy, barely ten, almost protested but closed his mouth quickly when his father shot him a stern look. He went to take the medicine from Claire and she gave him a reassuring smile as she smoothed his hair down with both hands. Moments later he disappeared into the house. Pierre, older by only two years, was quicker to understand and quickly set about unhitching the horse without being told. Her father had already bundled their visitor into his arms and was making his way to the house. Claire rushed ahead of him, propping the door as she ran into the house to pull one of the couches in front of the fire and find several blankets.

Her father deposited the woman on the couch, pulling the throw over her as Claire returned to the room with more blankets tucked under one arm and a bundle of warm clothes on the other. Her father nodded at her and turned back to the door, unpropping it and holding it open with one hand as he pushed back into his boots.

" _I'm going to go help your brother with the horse. Mind her for me."_

Claire nodded, and he disappeared back out the door without a backwards glance. Claire took a deep breath before setting to work. She pulled the throw back and set about peeling away the layers of damp clothing, replacing them with her own warmer clothes. She found a parcel tucked against the woman's skin, dozens of papers rolled into one another and kept against her skin beneath her thin blouse. Confused, Claire set these aside for another time. As she worked, Claire took in their guest, ringlets of blonde hair framing her pale face. She was thin and frail, and Claire realized she could not be much older than herself; not a woman but a girl of barely sixteen. When she was changed she threw the throw back over her along with a handful of thicker quilts, before maneuvering into the kitchen to boil a kettle and retrieve a rag. She was pouring the hot water into cups, setting the rest aside to cool to a slightly less harmful temperature, when Antoine appeared in the doorway. His gaze flickered to the living room, nervous and confused. Claire beckoned him over with a smile and he crept into the kitchen looking upset.

" _What's happening?_ "

Claire sighed. " _Nothing bad, I promise. We found her on the road and she needed help._ " She slung and arm around his shoulder in a half-hug as he nodded solemnly. " _How is mother?_ "

The boy shrugged. " _Sleeping._ "

" _Then you're free to help me with our guest. Come, grab those mugs for me._ "

. . . . . . .

The stranger slept for days. Claire sat with her, first running a warm towel over her frozen extremities then a cool one when the shivering developed into a full-fledged fever. She drizzled water and lukewarm soup broth into her mouth to keep her hydrated and fed. The fire was kept burning constantly, her brothers taking turns running out behind the barn to fetch wood and tend their mother, while the other helped their father with the farm work. On the fourth day, the girl woke in the early morning.

Claire, returning from the kitchen with a warm bowl of broth and a cup of water stopped short as the girl on the couch shuffled into a sitting position and looked around the room confused. Claire cleared her throat as she moved into the room, circling widely around the couch to give the girl a moment to register her approach before presenting her with the soup. She looked back and forth between the Claire and the soup a few times looking uneasy.

"C'est pour toi. Ca te fera du bien."

The girl blinked, wide eyed. " _I'm sorry. I don't know what you're saying…"_

Claire blinked surprised as she registered the Germanic language. She made a show of offering her the soup again, making slow wide gestures with her hands until the information finally registered, and the girl took the soup with trembling hands. Claire took her seat in the armchair she had pulled to the couch's 'bedside' and watched the girl spoon mouthfuls of food into her mouth as quickly as humanly possible. Claire waited until she was most of the way through the bowl before drawing her attention again.

"Claire. Toi?" She pointed to herself then to her guest, hoping she would understand.

"H-Helena."

Thinking back to her old schoolmaster's attempts at teaching her English, she summoned what little she remembered in the hopes the girl knew some as well. "Do you speak English?"

Helena frowned, the other girl's accent was thick and warped the words into strange inflections, but she recognized the language enough to respond. Her father had ensured she was educated in at least one other language, and she thanked him quietly in her mind that it had been one this stranger knew. She nodded around her food as an answer. Both girls sighed in relief, before bursting into muffled giggles at each other. Helena drained the last of the soup from the bowl, and Claire offered her the cup of water in exchange for the empty bowl. When both were finished she stood and set them back on the counter in the kitchen, returning to the living room to find Helena tentatively walking around the living room.

"We have bath…" she fumbled for the word, resigning when she could not find it and resorted to pointing at the ceiling, "en haut, if you want?"

Helena smiled and nodded, and the two made their way carefully upstairs. Claire ran the bath, providing more of her own clothing for the girl to wear although they hung a little large on her thin frame and came up short on her longer legs and arms. She made a note to ask her mother for some of hers, hoping they would fit better. When everything was sorted she left Helena to her own devices and returned downstairs. Her father, who had been out feeding the animals when Helena woke, had returned and was pulling his boots off in the entrance hall when she came down. He pointed with his chin as he struggled with his jacket.

" _She's awake then?_ "

Claire nodded and explained about the language barrier. " _Where do you think she's from that she ended up here like that?"_

 _"_ _Most likely she came from Switzerland or Austria. But what she's doing here I could hardly say. There's been some talk of unrest out that way."_

Claire nodded quietly, both moving into the kitchen as her father set about making porridge. They stood in silence as the food cooked, listening to the house slowly waking above them. Claire could hear her brothers moving around their room and, moments later, heard the drain in the bathroom being unplugged as water rushed down the pipes. Her father went to fetch bowls from the cupboards and she moved to the stove to help him ladle six portions into bowls. She looked up as she finished with the last bowl.

" _You're not going to send her away are you?_ "

He held her gaze as he smiled and brushed long, dark hair back from her face with both hands. " _She can stay for as long as she needs, if that is what she wants."_

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and collected half the bowls to place on the table. Claire followed suit, and was about to make her way back upstairs when a racket from the hall above drew both their attention. Moments later, her brothers appeared at the top of the stairs each clasping on of Helena's hands as they pulled the startled looking girl down the stairs to the dinning table. Claire's father shot her a small grin, moving the crowd in the staircase to wake his wife.

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Let me know what you think :)


	2. Fog of War

A/N; So this story is going to just around (time wise) for the first few chapters because they're mostly just establishing context and stuff.

Anyway, enjoy!

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CHAPTER 1 – FOG OF WAR

 **Evians-les-Bains, France  
July 1940**

The letter came much the same way the others had before it. The courier appeared at the end of the lane, satchel thrown over one shoulder and a small parcel clutched in one hand. Antoine and Pierre raced out to meet him, abandoning their chores in the chicken pen and dumping the seed out in a pile on the ground as they rushed off. Claire heard her brother's excited chatter from inside the barn where she was busy feeding their horse, Monsieur, and the two dairy cows. Their father had been called away to the war almost a year ago, and while life on the farm had continued as normal it was nearly impossible to contain the boys when the courier appeared with his letters. Absentmindedly she wondered about the letter as she went about her chores. News of the fall of Paris and France's surrender almost a month ago had travelled quickly, and she knew everyone hoped this letter would bring news of return.

When her chores were finished, Claire made her way back into the house. Helena met her in the doorway. A permanent fixture in their life now, she helped around as much as she could when Claire's mother's illness forced the woman to remain in bed. It had been difficult at first, Helena had never set foot on a farm before and needed teaching at almost everything but she had a natural inclination to healing and care. And with next to no knowledge of the French language, Claire had adapted; insisting that her friend help her improve her English instead. She was baffled now as Helena met her in the doorway, tugging her through to the living room without giving her a moment to even pull her shoes off. She was babbling, stumbling over words in a strange mix of English and German. Claire stopped, yanking the other girl to a halt just outside the living room.

"Helena, what happened?"

She looked visibly shaken, glancing back over her shoulder worriedly. "A letter came this morning about your father…"

Claire felt something in her gut twist violently. She shoved past the other girl into the living room just in time to watch the end of the chaos. Pierre was screaming, he chucked something across the room where it shattered against a wall, and fled up the stairs to his room. Antoine sat in silence, staring off into the middle distance with the kind of grief in his eyes far more unsettling than Pierre's outburst. Her mother sat at the center of it all, the letter open in her hands; the catalyst. She hardly reacted as Claire came around the couch where she was sitting and pulled the envelope from trembling fingers. Her own hands shook as she straightened the paper out to read it. The words **regret to inform** and **killed in action** jumped out at her and she heaved air into her lungs forcefully as the world spun once on its axis.

Her eyes flickered across the room, sliding over her mother's dead-eyed stare to meet Helena's worried glance from where she stood in the door frame. She was wringing her hands, pulling at her fingers as her eyes went first from Claire to Antoine to the staircase up which Pierre had disappeared. Claire took another deep breath, then another when she felt the air whistle from her lungs in a half-sob, until she managed to choke her panic down for the moment. She lowered herself to eye-level with her mother, reaching out to shake her gently. When her only response was to turn a glassy eyed stare at her, Claire hung her head defeated and stood up. She motioned Helena over with a pleading gesture.

"Can you take her to bed? I'm sorry… I-"

Helena shook her head gently. "I will take care of your mother. Help your brothers."

Claire nodded quietly, thanking her friend again as she carefully hoisted her mother off the couch and up to her room. Claire turned to Antoine, curled into the old armchair they kept by the fire; their father's chair. She could see the tracks of tears on his pale face, the only sign of distress beyond the quiet sadness in his eyes. Gently, she lowered herself to sit on the arm of the chair, brushing soft dark hair back from his forehead with cool shaking fingers. He turned his head to look up at her, and his face twisted into complete misery before he folded himself into her side and cried hard. Claire slide down off the arm of the chair, pulling him into her lap as she took his place in the chair. It took almost half an hour before the tears subsided and he sat back away from her puffy-eyed and tired looking but less destroyed than before.

" _What will we do now? The farm…"_

" _We'll figure something out. For now I think, you should sleep._ "

They stood together, and Claire let him up the stairs ahead of her. She noticed sadly that his trousers were beginning to come up above his ankles with each step, the old material becoming too small for the fourteen-year-old boy growing rapidly. Claire wondered again what they would do. The farm provided them with food and enough money to get by, but without her father to manage it it was quickly becoming too much for the siblings to manage alone. She shoved the thoughts to the side as she reached the landing. Antoine disappeared into his room without a word and Claire was left alone in the hall for a moment. She could hear the gentle lilt of Helena voice in her mother's room as she went about her business. Deciding her mother was in good hands for the moment, Claire wandered to the opposite end of the hall.

Pierre's door was ajar, the old lock barely worked, and Claire suspected he had slammed it so hard on his way in it had simply ricocheted back without getting the opportunity to lock itself. She pushed it open gently, standing for a moment in the doorway should he choose to banish her, but was met with silence. She closed the door gently behind her as she stepped in, but the room was empty. The small space was a disaster zone, Pierre had obviously taken the rest of his emotions out on his stuff. Clothing had been ripped from the dresser, and his personal possessions had been thrown about the room, some destroyed with the impact. His window stood open and peering out she saw the door to the old barn also stood slightly ajar. Glad she was still wearing her boots, she made her way out to the barn.

She found it empty as well, beyond its usual occupants. Claire took a moment to pat Monsieur gently on the nose as she passed; he looked more than a little ruffled, as did the cows, which Claire took as a sign of her brother's path of destruction through the property. She went out through the back door of the barn, which overlooked the rest of the property and which led to the empty dusty lot where they kept the rusty tractor their father had purchased when he deemed Monsieur too old for field work. It needed near constant repair, and both Claire and Pierre had taken to the chore with enthusiasm and it was often the only task they could retreat to. Pierre sat against one of the back wheels looking angry and defeated all at once. There was a wrench hanging limp in his hands, and Claire took it with steady hands before setting to work on the engine. For a long while neither said anything, and Claire worked steadily through the different faulty mechanisms in the decrepit machine. Eventually, Pierre shifted sideways to stare up at her with the same half-defeated look in his eye.

Claire worked on steadily, without even glancing down. " _What is it?_ "

" _Nothing._ "

" _I know you have something to say._ "

Claire shrugged. " _There's nothing I can say that will make this better. You're old enough to know that._ "

The boy seemed almost to shrink in on himself. _"Not old enough to be there. Not old enough to be useful._ "

She glanced sharply down at her brother and his eyes swept away from her miserably. Claire dragged a breath in and set the wrench down on the engine's hood before slipping down to sit beside her brother.

" _You don't know that being there would have helped._ "

" _It couldn't have done any harm."_

His voice cracked, dipping into an almost childlike warble as he slumped sideways to curl against her side in a near perfect mirror of his brother. She stroked his hair, it was longer and wilder than his brothers, but was the same shade of almost greyish black they all shared.

" _But it could have done harm here. Things are hard enough with just dad gone, what if we had lost you as well?"_

 _"_ _You would have survived…"_

Claire smothered the urge to roll her eyes. " _As will you._ "

Pierre glowered up at her and she almost snickered at catching him with his own words. Instead, she squeezed him once more before standing up and pulling him with her.

 _"_ _Come on. Help me with this. I don't know what you thought you were doing but you definitely did something to the engine…"_

. . . . . . .

The rest of the day passed in a stunned stupor. The boys went about their chores visibly shaken, while their mother hid in her bedroom refusing to leave it even at Helena's insistence. The two girls did what they could in the meantime. Preparing first lunch, then dinner, while the boys trundled around outside. By the time evening came around, Helena was beginning to worry in earnest about the woman upstairs, while Claire simply simmered angrily as she set the table. Helena glanced her way sharply as she slammed the last fork down into its place.

"She always does this!"

Helena blinked, clearly lost as her friend stormed back into the kitchen to collect the food. She beat her to it, pulling the warm pot from her hands to avoid a catastrophe. Deliberately, she set the food on the table, checking and double checking everything before turning to the other woman. Claire's anger bubbled out unbidden and her words followed.

"If something goes bad, she runs away. Ou bien, she hides and refuses to be there."

Helena shrugged helplessly. "She is grieving."

"We need her! Look at them," she threw her hand out towards the window looking out on her brothers closing up the barn for the night, "they need Maman."

"I will try and get her to come eat again. She was less pale earlier."

"À chaque fou plaît sa marotte."

Helena shot her a reproachful look, the words lost in translation, but the meaning clear enough. "Give her a chance."

Claire shrugged, unconvinced, as she turned away to call the boys inside. Helena made a resigned sound and made her way upstairs. It was silent as a crypt on the landing, and she received no response when she knocked on the door. She entered regardless, poking her head in first before moving all the way in and leaving the door ajar behind her. The woman lay in bed looking equal parts sad and exhausted. Her bedside drawer was open, with letters sprawled out in a fan around her. Helena took this as a good sign and walked the rest of the way in to sit on the edge of the bed by her feet.

"Therese? There is food for everyone downstairs."

Not for the first time, Helena wondered if the woman actually knew any English. She never responded, not verbally least wise, but Claire assured her that her mother had spent a good portion of her childhood travelling between France and England. Therese smiled serenely, patting the spot next to her and moving a few of the letters aside as Helena moved to sit beside her. She sat carefully, taking the offered letter as it was handed to her, immediately recognizing the loopy scrawl of handwriting on the paper from the letters they had been receiving regularly for the last year, though the paper itself was old and worn and falling apart in places. She held it delicately as Therese looked over her shoulder quietly.

"Albert was always a romantic."

Helena balked at the unexpected conversation, but Therese continued serenely. "He used to write me letters. One every week, no matter the distance. Even after we were married."

She took the letter back, folding it carefully before setting about gathering all of the letters strewn around. When they were all collected she stowed them lovingly back into her bedside drawer, long fingers pushing any stray pieces carefully away from the lip of the drawer before she closed it and pushed her blanket off her legs. Helena stepped in quickly to help, and together the two of them made their way down into the dining room.

Claire looked visibly surprised when they appeared at the bottom of the stairs, but said nothing as she pulled her mother's chair out for her and went about serving her a portion. The boys were already seated and served, and the meal began just as soon as everyone had taken their seat. The meal was mostly silent, each stewing in their own thoughts as silverware clattered against porcelain. The boys finished first, waiting patiently for the three women to finish their meals before they would begin the washing up. Therese was the last to finish, setting her cutlery down delicately and pulling in a deep sigh. The boys stood immediately to begin collecting the plates, but she waved them back into her seat with a heavy look and the dining room once again fell into unsettling silence. She peered into each of her children's faces solemnly before seeming to steel herself.

" _This war_ _has taken someone very dear from us."_ The boys eyes fell to their plates sadly. " _And I fear it will continue to do so. With the fall of Paris, a time of uncertainty begins for France and I do not know how we will survive it. Pierre. Antoine. I have sent word to my sister in Grenoble that you will be joining her by the end of the month. I cannot stop the war, but I will keep you as far from it as I can."_

For a beat, the silence in the room was deafening. Helena, unsure of what had just transpired, watched as slowly whatever had been said sank in and chaos erupted in the small house for the second time. Pierre stood abruptly, knocking his chair over as he lurched to his feet and began screaming shrilly. Beside him, his brother sat looking stricken. Claire looked horrified, watching the scene unfold for a few seconds before standing abruptly herself. She reigned Pierre in as best she could, pleading with him quietly to take Antoine to their room. One look at the younger boy seemed enough, and Pierre gathered his brother to his feet and hauled him up the stairs and out of sight. No sooner had they disappeared from the landing, Claire whirled on her mother.

" _You cannot send them away! How will we manage the farm? How will they even get to Grenoble?"_

Helena, now thoroughly baffled stood and tried to calm her friend. "Claire, what is happening?"

She pointed an accusing finger at her mother. "She is sending them away! Like nothing!"

Helena looked back and forth between the women, unsure, but before she could say anything Claire stormed away up the stairs. Therese sighed deeply, scrubbing her face with both hands and sagging back into her chair. Pleadingly, Helena crouched beside her.

"You cannot send them away."

"They cannot stay here. The war will come, sooner rather than later, and I will not have them be a part of it."

She leaned further back into her chair, peering around the room as if committing it to memory.

"Tomorrow, Gerard from down the lane will come with a wagon to take the boys away. They will be safe with him until he delivers them to my sister. I would ask you to make sure they are ready to leave when they come. For now, I must speak to my boys."

She pushed herself to her feet. Helena watched her go, feeling her heart sink into her stomach. Therese stopped in the stairs, halfway to the second floor, and peered back at her with a sad resigned smile. Helena thought it reminded her of her own mother. Something settled within her at the look, and she felt as though she could understand this now. Even if she could not accept it.

"I can see that you understand."

Above her, something in Claire's room shattered and both women looked up at the ceiling as though they would find the evidence there.

"I do not expect her to understand. She loves them dearly, but she does not yet understand how cruel the world can be."

With that, Therese disappeared up the steps. Helena waited a breath, heard the door of the boys room open and shut, and set about cleaning up the rest of the meal. She boiled water as she went about her chores. Idly she thought, she would make tea. Sleep would not come easily for anyone tonight.

True to Therese's word, Gerard appeared in the mid-morning, his creaky old wagon laden with crates and bags of items for delivery to Grenoble. The boys trod solemnly from the house and loaded themselves into the back of the wagon. Claire followed, helping them in and pulling them both into long hugs that left all three with wet eyes and runny noses. Helena waited until all goodbyes were said, before looping her own arms around them and giving them each a fond peck on the cheek. From the doorway, Therese waved them off silently. They had come to an understanding the night before, and while the grief of their departure remained unchanged, the boys' animosity had fallen away to be turned into a grim sort of determination. Claire, however, remained resolutely angry, refusing any and all explanations and removing herself from her mother entirely.

The wagon turned the corner of the lane way and, a moment later, disappeared from view. Claire shot a baleful look at her mother, turned on her heel and stormed into the barn. Helena, still standing in the drive, glanced between the two women before sighing and following after her. Quietly, she thought about the boys and their almost peaceful acceptance of their departure. It seemed as though the worst had passed for them. On the farm, however, the worst seemed yet to come.

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Let me know what you think :)


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